


Original short stories

by The_Magnus_Bane



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-31 05:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21440611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Magnus_Bane/pseuds/The_Magnus_Bane
Summary: These are my original short stories. Ive been writing for years about things that cause me emotional elation or sadness and my friend thinks they are pretty good so i decided to post them! i hope you enjoy!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary for this chapter: My love has captured my heart and released it from its iron grip. They have shown me every inch that is cracked and broken and healed it with a kiss of their sweet lips. Your love will do the same. Your love can heal people too.

The sweetness on your lips, as if they were kissed by honey. The sweat on your brow as your face twists and curves with thought and anticipation. You try to mark down exactly how you feel and i can't help but wonder as my mind begins to tick and spin. How do you feel? How i wonder, when things look so clear, as if the rain washed away the murkiness of mud that clumped at my feet. When i feel light, so light i fear for my safety, as i float among the clouds in the highness you bring to me. For my feelings are known to me, in the crisp clutter of my head, how you seem to clear that clutter of my mind and turn it into something else, something tangible and real. Something to hold within my grasp, oh how i know how i feel.  


I question my sanity, oh how the questions fill the dark spaces with their shaky webs, spiders dancing in their silk, filling me with their dark and poisonous bite, for i can't help but wonder, how do you feel? Where does your heart lay you beautiful flower, for you think your petals wilted, burned and charred as the ashes and remnants of the past dance in the wind in some kind of mocking show for everyone to gawk. You see, you think yourself damaged, broken into tiny segments, so far gone it is beyond repair. It feels as if only i get to glimpse between the cracks, get to see the blinding bright light that sparkles and shines when you smile. I feel i know where you're feelings lie, so when you voice them, voice them from your honey lips for all to hear and see. Shout out with quiet yet unconditioned joy your reckless and unabashed love for me, my sweet.  


But, alas, your cracks dim slightly and smile fades as you think, as you remember. Her. The very reason i am unable to hear your sweet voice tell me the very words i long to hear. Her. the very cause of your breaking melancholy. Her. the reason your brow quakes and smile falters. It is her fault you consider yourself broken in the first place, the reason your lips quiver and your eyes fill. She hurt you, she hurt you so bad you believe yourself unworthy, unworthy of my hands clasping your heart in a soft embrace, in fact she is the reason for it's iron chains wrapped tightly around it's beating mass. The one whose name you will not utter, unless you wake from sleep with wide unseeing eyes and her name wrapped firmly around those lips i enjoy so much.  


She is the cause of your fear, the reason you believe yourself unworthy of my love. The reason you will not simply utter the phrase i long to hear, for you shake and ache with turbulence, that if you utter those words that they will disappear too, just as she did. Well my love, i am here to tell you, here to claim you with my quiet resilience that i am like the roots of a strong oak, always here, here to keep you upright, for my only desire is to provide you with the nutrients to grow into the man you simply long to become. I refuse to leave your side, i am not a branch, so easily discarded with sudden turbulence, nor am i a leaf, where the slightest gust of wind will make me shake and leave. I wish for you to see, really see me for who i am to you.  


Until then i shall wait patiently for you, for your heart to be rid of it's iron prison and be replaced instead with the softness of my hands. I shall treat you with the utmost care. For this gift is better than any present i may ever receive. This gift shows you bare your soul to me. I have already bared mine, the ugly, naked, broken thing that seemed to mend and heal in your grasp. I showed you this in the cover of darkness, not thinking how your radiant shine will not allow me to hide from you, not allow me to cover and bury my shame within me. Yet your hands seemed to mend the ugliness that is my deeper innermost workings. With every caress of your calloused hand you seemed to fix some broken thing within me. You hurt for my past and longed for my present more than anyone i had ever met.  


You took my frail body and pressed it gently against yours, you held me still as the cries wracked my small frame, and yet you never stole my breath as i struggled to breath. You simply held me, my head firmly, pressed to your chest as you felt the wetness seep into your soft cotton shirt. Imagine my shock when i felt wetness as well. As you cried not for me, but with me, absorbing my pain into you as you took my tears from the very eyes that created them. For this is the man i have chosen to unburden my heart from it's lock and key in order to give to you. I hope one day, however long that may be, you feel the same. One day i wish to dig into your chest and hold it steady within my hands, for i wish you to bare your soul as i have done with you. I hope you come into your senses and see i only wish to heal your cracks and allow your light to shine uninterrupted by your harsh insecurity. I know why you never utter those words, only in your sleepless nights, when you think my eyes closed and body limp. When i feel the roughness of your fingers rub through the soft strains of my hair, a whispered “I love you.”


	2. The Secret Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A place where you feel safe, feel at home within the confines of your skin without the sharp pricks that rise, unwanted. Where your horrendous life no longer matters and problems melt away into the vast nothingness. This is Your sacred palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mention of self harm, abuse, as well as mild innuendos of rape.

The secret palace   
Going to the beach, just to sit by the rocky shores and see where the ocean meets land in a destructive collision upon the sandy earth. The same sand that allows you to feel, allows you to press it deep within your palms as you manage to notice each individual grain roughly graze the soft skin of your palms. Everything seems so small here, including the tears that slide in a downward motion, leaving trails of wetness. Everything seems small compared to that massive body of water, here it becomes one, even the slick saltiness that drips into the mass becomes one with the fluid living organism. Sometimes this is the only time you allow yourself out of bed, allow yourself to feel the cold concrete caress the sensitive wiggling toes as you stretch wide and let out some agglutination yawn. A yawn that says your tired even though all you can seem to make yourself do is sleep. Days have passed, or has it been weeks? Weeks since you have allowed yourself out of that rectangle prison that holds you in tight chains, never allowing you up for a moment of relief, even for so much as shower. But here, here on the shores your scarred wrists usually stained in red smirs across the smooth expanse of skin doesn't matter, and neither do the tears. Here you are free in your loneliness. You allow yourself to embrace it even, with it's cold dead extremities that wrap around you, sticking and sucking to you like an octopus with its helpless prey dangling from it's grotesque ligaments. The loneliness is nothing new, but it's something usually ignored, left to be thought of and dealt with later like a disobedient child in the middle of a Walmart parking lot with his chirpy aunt who gives him a look, a look that says “later”. Your stained face doesn't stand out in the crowd. You don't stand out in the crowd. You have learned crowds are never good, crowds tend to squeeze until there is no oxygen left in your lungs and the rosy blush you always thought was more of a blemish then anything planted firmly on your face disappears into a sickly coloration . They prey upon your individuality as if they were a swarming mass of sharks looking for the chum within the engulfing depth of the water. Anything different than the swirling sinking grey blob that is the masses tends to be ostracized, but then again you always seem to be have just the right amount of light to be a sickly contrast to their grim and moronic world view. This has become the one place that everything clicks into place, the clutter in your mind seems a bit more organized. The one place where the only opinion of what is right and what is wrong is yours, you are allowed to be free, allowed to complete a thought without having to check over your shoulder to ensure the dark, slimy, pitiful monsters of the night didn't hear the echo of your thoughts. Here is safety, it's the warm blanket that is draped over you in the middle of the night after getting high on video games and riveting conversations with friends before falling asleep in a heap on the couch. It's the first day in a new school, terrified of everyone and everything as you check behind every corner for the next monstrous swarm only to be greeted with a warm forgiving smile as you bump into your knight in shimmering armor who will come to protect you from those slimy things you call fear. Here. Here is safety. It's everything good, it's where your dad’s fists, scared with little white bumpy lines from years of use aren't rocketing towards your face with great speed, where you don't hear the ungodly cracking of bones that echo and bounce off the chipped and broken walls of your house, broken from where your weak body was thrown, where your blood sprayed in little specs from your head. Where moms shrieks are barely audible over the waves crashing as nature does so often. Crash. 

Crash crash crash the waves go, not the bad crash either, not like when you dropped a plate and sharp shards of broken glass were spread over the floor, spread over it just like you soon would be when the man who makes you echo a broken “father” got home and the only way to pay the debt of the cheap ceramic was with your own body. Your own soul. The once bright mass within yourself that has always shown it's radiant shine to the world only for it to slowly dim down until it's just a pile of smoldering ashes. This is a weird concept to you, that you have a soul. A soul that god and everyone who doesn't know says is worth saving. But is it? Am i worth saving? These questions always seem to spiral out in big loopy patterns that are painted and spread on the insides of your mind. But not here, never ever here. Because no one knows of this place. The secret nook within the concave of a hidden palace. This has become your safe tower, your prince charming, your epic fairy tale place all rolled into one. It has becomes the sacred kiss that has awakened you, given you life as breath enters your lungs for what feels like the first time in your whole life. Oh how you wish to be with the ocean. Be with it for all time as it washes through you and carries away your sins and dirt in one swift caress. You wish to be free of your sins here, but scared that once they leave you what would be left in their wake. As you listen to the crash of foamy waters bounce onto the shores you realize none of this matters here, nothing matters here as long as your free, as long as this hidden candy house within the dark and scary forest remains hidden for all time, then you will remain safe.   
The sky is so clear here, no light to pollute it in its infinite beauty. Here you understand life, as the moon comes up into the starry night sky and the sun descends to welcome a new part of life. You feel as if you know about new, new town and new home and new “father” but new has never been a good thing, until your knight with armor that shines like the sun appeared and you realized new doesn't mean the sickening sounds of bones crunching and cracking beneath the now torn and broken skin. Your knight, with his sword drawn high above his head, willing to vanquish all those dark misshapen demons that crowd your already too cluttered mind, with armor made of steel. Your knight wishes for nothing more than companionship, his hands don't rest on the inside your thighs while pulling at the buttons of your jeans with hurried shaky hands, this valiant knights nails don't leave deep crescent marks in warning that even the smallest opposition to his unlikely advancement would lead to far worse scars than that of malformed nails, no this knight is one of honor. He is a friend, there to conquer those venomous vipers that slither their way into every dark corner of the cramped tiny quarters you call judgement. You judged this honorable protector unfairly for your past has seemed to control your actions. Has made you it's puppet, controlling your very thoughts with swift yanks of it's long string. Making you act sporadically, unknowing how bad you hurt those you treasure most dearly. But this knight refuses to be pushed away, wrapping you up in his warm arms, allowing your head to rest on his chest and listen to the thrum of his beating heart. He is warm and soft and everything you have craved for so long. He is the kindness in this world, and he makes you feel stronger.   
You are here, alive and breathing with the fishes that swim deeply beneath the sea, so deep your eyes strain with concentration as you try and pick apart the very complexity that has stumped and stigmatized the water for as long as your child like mind can remember. It makes your dads fists seem small, and your mama's words seem as soft as feathers within your grasp. You don't feel the pinpricks of needles. Don't feel the calmness enter bloodstream in a sickly air of disgust to try and feel as if you are here, at this very place on this very beach. No this is a real high, a real feeling that doesn't sting and burn with withdrawals. Here you realize you are but a bystander to life and it's infinite mysteries. This beach, with it's sweet smell of water, here smells clean, in a way that home could never feel like. Home to you is a distant memory painted in blood, your blood. Home isn't here, home is beatings, it's the feeling of your fathers hands running on the inside of your thighs, a quiet promise of what is to come, it's your mother's mouth shaping sharp ugly words that seem to hit harder than your fathers fists ever could. No. here, this place on this beach, with the water seeping into your too long and loose pants as the water caresses the sensitive skin of your feet, this, this is home.  
And yet, even as you tell yourself that you will be back to your forbidden palace, walking away is oh so hard for you. You begin to feel the air leave your lungs and fat sickly tears form at the base of your eyes. You beg yourself, will yourself to hang in there for one more day, that this nook, this forbidden place, will always be here to comfort you in it's sweet embrace when you need it to. You urge yourself to keep moving, just as the sun and moon do with each passing day. But you are smaller than that, right? Your movements and actions dictate nothing within all of the grandness that is life. You look to the side as your feet press deep within the sand and see the rocks sitting still and silent, they look weathered, almost as much as you, almost. You can't stop yourself from feeling as if you were rubbed raw by the uncaring god who created you. That brought you to the endless stream of hurt and brokenness. You can't help but think when will it end, when will i be free.   
And yet that same merciless god brought you here, to your nook, and a smile breaks out across your chapped and bleeding lips and finally you have the strength to fight, you bring up every single ounce you have to muster within your short frame. You try so much it almost hurts, because while you are not the sun nor the moon you know deep within your heart you are someone's center, you are someone's forbidden palace as well, and who are you to take that away from them? You tell yourself in a mantra that one day it will all be worth it. One day this fight won't be an uphill battle through thick snow with nothing more on your feet than the thin material of clompy flip-flops. One day someone will fight for you, will want to fight for you and for the life you deserve. One day the needle in your arm won't burn with euphoria or leave you wanting with need on the slick bathroom floor. 

One day everything will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story i wrote through some really troubling times. please read and review!! It would really make a difference and let me know if i should keep writing!! Thank you and i hope you enjoy!!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys likes it! please leave me comments and ill be sure to read them!! thank you for reading and i hope you continue to do so.


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